


The Slayer Of Issormir

by HelRegin



Series: Naughty Norn [1]
Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game), Guild Wars Series (Video Games)
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, First Time, One Shot, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Some Descriptions of Violence, Spoilers, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wurm Slaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 21:25:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17495651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelRegin/pseuds/HelRegin
Summary: Föbe entered the small fortified settlement of Snowlord’s Gate. She had grown up in the Wayfarer Foothills, and it was not the first time she had been here, but it was the first time she had come to the Great Hunt with the intention of participating. Her excitement seemed to hang in the hair like morning frost before her. It charged her senses and made everything seem more vivid.





	The Slayer Of Issormir

_I am norn, hunter of the wild, born of the free and rugged Shiverpeak mountains. In the far north, my people fought our greatest enemy: Jormag, a dragon of frost and snow. The dragon broke our pride, but it did not break our spirit. In our last hour, we heard the voices of four of the Spirits of the Wild: Bear, Raven, Snow Leopard, Wolf. They call us south, away from certain annihilation. We founded the Great Lodge of Hoelbrak and claimed new hunting grounds._

Föbe entered the small fortified settlement of Snowlord’s Gate. She had grown up in the Wayfarer Foothills, and it was not the first time she had been here, but it was the first time she had come to the Great Hunt with the intention of participating. Her excitement seemed to hang in the hair like morning frost before her. It charged her senses and made everything seem more vivid. Even the Heart of the Raven seemed brighter . She had been her to honour the spirit many times but this time she spared a moment to ask for extra guidance.

Föbe diverted from where she was going to check out the strange animals Mica keeps. As she strode along the road, Thora Griffonbane, a hunter of some renown, called out to her. “Hey! Over here! You don’t want to miss a chance for glory, do you?” Thora’s voice was strong and cut through the noise of the busy smith. Föbe grinned, feeling her cheeks flush in excitement and waved to Thora as she drew close.

“Hail hero!” Thora’s voice held a hint of irony with the warm greeting. She had called Föbe hero ever since a rather dicy incident with a wild boar, a few sticks and Hrugar, a boy who had grown up in a nearby homestead. Hrugar always seemed to instigate some sort of trouble. “Are you here to take part in this year’s Great Hunt?” It was all Föbe had been talking about now for three seasons, and Thora knew that.

“Of course I am!” Föbe tried not to sound too indignant. “Just tell me what needs to be done and stand clear.” She tossed her perch hair over her shoulder.

“Hunt down the wildest animals you can find and take trophies from your kills. Present only the finest to Ido the Tanner to prove your worth.” Föbe had not met Ido before, but Snowlord’s Gate was a small settlement so she was sure he would be easy enough to find.

Thora smiled at Föbe, and it was hard to tell if she was mocking or not as she continued. “Whoever has the best trophy, and whose bravery is the greatest, will be invited to join the Great Hunt. Knut Whitebear has said this season’s event will be one of the most dangerous, so be ready. I’ve even heard the renowned Eir Stegalkin might attend.”

Föbe’s heart skipped a beat. Eir Stegalkin? She had grown up listening to stories about the famous norn around the hearth each night. They had always been her favourites. A chance to meet not only Knut Whitebear, but also her personal hero. Knut was a leader of sorts, to a people's that were particularly hard to lead.

“I look forward to impressing them both - after I’ve earned my place in the hunt.” But first she would need to talk to Hunter Hauk. He would be able to give her some good advice. He had been hunting in the region for 60 years and new almost each and every animal, twig and pebble.

Hauk was easy to find, the big black horns on his helm always stood a little above the other heads around him. As Föbe approached she could see his little dark eyes gleaming through the slits. This had always been his favourite time of year.

“Hail Hauk” She said as she crossed the grass to stand by him.

“So, hunter,” he never had been one for small talk. Hauk had only two interests, hunting and brawling, “are you ready to start making a name for yourself? There’s plenty of game out there, if you are skilled enough to find it.” If it was an animal you afte, then Hauk would know where to find it.

“I’m ready. I shall find the best trophies in this valley.”

“Spoken like a true hunter!” His voice held no mocking. He had taught Föbe to hunt many years before in the absence of her father and mother. Hauk knew first hand what she was capable of. “Now, I can tell you where you can find the prey. The rest is up to you. What are you tracking?”

“I want something exoctic,” she had thought long and hard about what would be the most impressive trophy to secure her place in the Great Hunt, “like an owl griffon.” She thought that if she were to pick something unusual, she would stand a better chance of standing out. However it was not without risks. Taking on an aerial predator with nothing but hatchet was tricky. She would have to move quick and avoid those wickedly sharp talons if she wanted to escape with her scalp intact.

“Now you’re talking! Some owl griffons set up a rookery to the west, near the shrine to Snow Leopard. Watch your step. The owls will be guarding their young. Fiercely.”

“That’s all I need to know. Thanks!” She knew how to get to the Snow Leopard shrine, although she didn’t visit as often as the acolytes would like. Other than Raven, the other spirits did not hold a huge amount of interest to her. She knew the stories well enough, and would honour them if she were passing, but as a necromancer she knew the veil between life and death well and preferred to focus on the present world around her. If she was lucky she would not run into any dredge while she was there. Their sharp teeth and beady little eyes had always been like nails on slate to her. Dredge just set her one edge.

“Now I can get started.”

Hauk had been exactly right about where to find the owl griffons. When she first came upon the nest, she quickly dispatched of a young owl griffon thinking to take that as a trophy. It’s hide was speckled with brown and white feathers which made it hard to see from a distance, but up close it was a fine creature to behold. She kept the death clean and efficient. When she wasn’t killing for survival she always did so with clear purpose. She could feel death like an icicle in her spine and she did not relish the sensation like some of her kind did.

However upon hearing the death cries of its infant a Sire had emerged from the surroundings. It had required Föbe to react on instinct. Ducking and rolling through the snow until she was a safe distance from the beast to scramble to her feet and face it head on. In an adrenaline fuelled breath and with only one beat of its mighty wings it was on her again. Then it was a tangle of enraged claws and desperate teeth as she fought to kill the furious sire. With every strike of her hatchet she could feel death shifting beyond the veil that separated this world from whatever it was that lay beyond. Each time the cutting edge met flesh she could feel the life-force of the creature waver and dim. As norn she rarely felt the cold, however in moments like this she did feel a kind of chill creep upon her and settle onto her soul like and icy blanket. She was necromancer and life and death were hers to command.

With that thought resolved, the fight turned and she flung her hatchet so hard it lodged in the beasts chest. It flapped its wings in an attempt to get away but its strength was leaving it with each spurt of blood and bile onto the ground below. With a last screech it fell to the ground.

Föbe sat in the snow cleaning off her hatchet and catching her breath. She sent a quick thought to the spirit of the owl griffon, hoping it would find peace in the mists. Her guess about how tricky it had been to take down an aerial apex predator had been correct. The bastard Owl Griffon had taken a good size chunk out of her arm when she had misjudged a particularly clumsy strike to one of its legs. Now it lay a few feet away, it’s dead eyes glassy and clear as they looked at a sky it would never fly in again. She should get moving or animals would be attracted to smell of blood which sat, frozen on top of the snow, scattered across the ground like a macabre Wintersday decoration.

Before moving off she thanked the spirits for her victory and wished the spirits of the Owl Griffons well. “May you remain free and find your way through the mists hereafter.” It was a simple phrase, and while she couldn’t remember much of her mother, she could remember that it was always important to thank the spirits when you escaped a fight with your life, especially if others didn’t.

Running back to the small hamlet, she could feel death tugging at the edge of her senses. It was a familiar sensation, that all necromancers felt, usually before they even discovered their capabilities. The seductive chill of death. It was strongest after she had killed. It almost felt like a cold breath on her ear, something hungering for despair and destruction. The snow around her was not what made her shudder as she ran. Born rarely felt the cold, but this ran deeper than normal frost, it was a spirit deep chill that could sap all life. While she had never really stopped fearing her powers, she had learned to live with the urges. Necromancy was not for the faint of heart.

She often imagined that this feeling was how other races must feel when first entering the Shiverpeaks. She wondered if they were filled with the cold, and the hardness until it felt like there was nothing left. But to her the Shiverpeaks were her home. The hardness gave way to the delicate, playful beauty of snow. The cold to the warm fires of familiar homesteads and the hot burn of a good ale. It was this warmth that she drew on now to keep death at bay. That spark of life held back the whispers, not yet, it is not my time.

As she returned to Snowlord’s Gate, more hunters had gathered to show off their trophies. As she walked through the crowds she paused to assess her competition. The Moot was a time honoured tradition, and as much a part of the ritual of the hunt as the actual hunt itself. This was where reputations were established, and for the free thinking norn, a solid reputation meant legacy and immortality. As a result there was a level of boasting which was expected at these things. Föbe approached a group of hunters who were already well into their cups by the looks of it. She felt her familiar ‘moot mask’ settle into place. Out in the wilds she could be herself, but here she had to perform a role if she wanted in on the Great Hunt. Every born had to learn to boast.

“You should just go home.” One hunter started in aggressively at her. Before she had approached the group it was clear he had held it’s attention, but her arrival had broken his stream of boasting and it looked like he was just drunk enough that he might try and do something about it. “My trophies are the best the Great Hunt has ever seen. Way better than yours.” His voice boomed, despite the slight slur and Föbe had to admire his form. But Föbe knew the best way to face this kind of bully was from the front and with strength.

“Ha!” She tossed her head back slightly and cocked her hip as she turned to him. “My trophy is so good they’re renaming it Föbe’s Great Hunt.” For a moment Föbe thought he was going to real start a brawl but instead he just laughed.

“Well said! You might not win the Great Hunt, but you’re a shoo-in for ‘least modest hunter’.”

“I modestly agree!” Perhaps he wasn’t quite the bully she pegged him for, clearly he was all mouth and no trousers. “Now, tell me about your trophies.”

“Oh, well, I killed a… a fearsome Long-Eared Snow Runner! It has blinding speed and teeth like chisels, but I took it down with just one blow.” Föbe had to admire his bluff.

“That’s one impressive rabbit. Maybe I will see you in the winner’s circle!” Sarcasm dripped from her tongue like a knife. With that she headed off to grab herself a drink. There was a reason a norn had to prove themselves before they could participate in the Great Hunt. It was a dangerous right of passage and a dead norn was good to no one. As one of the elders had often said to Föbe as a child, the skaalds didn’t sing of stupidity.

The bartender, it seemed, had also had enough listening to fools this day.

“I’m tired of serving ale to rowdy hunters.” His voice was gravely and deep. Föbe had seen him toss the odd brawler out on their arse when called for.

“Really?” Föbe turned on the charm. “You’re surrounded by happy people having fun. Grab some for yourself!” The bartender perked up at her suggestion.

“You’re right. Maybe I’ll just knock off early and fetch myself a round for a change. Toss back a few ales, boast a little, maybe sing a few dirty songs…” He looked wistfully over at the hunters who were laughing raucously.

“That’s the spirit! Get out there and enjoy the moot!” He hoped over the bar and head over to the group, who cheered his arrival. Föbe took the moment to knock back a stiff drink. The group the bartender joined quickly began singing the dirtiest hunting song Föbe had ever heard. The chorus was filthy and as soon as she heard the opening lines her cheeks were once again ablaze.

 _I’ve hunted for pussy from the peaks and back_  
_I’ve hunted for cockerels to fill up my crack_  
 _I’ve hunted for fish, I’ve hunted for meat_  
 _But there is never enough stuffing for me_

Bashful about things she had not yet experienced and inexplicably hungry, she quickly headed off to find Ido, and then maybe see if she could scrounge some stew. On the way she bumped into Lempi, who was known to be the town kook.

“Careful!” Lempi said urgently. “Don’t mess up my traps!”

“I see your traps,” Föbe assured the nutty norn, “but I don’t see prey.”

“A hunter’s greatest virtue is patience. You don’t have to chase things down if you can draw your prey to you. If you’ve got that, you’ve got a successful hunt.”

“Crafty. I’ll have to try that” Föbe politely offered as she stepped away. She had not the patience for ranger tactics, and thought that those that did must have a screw loose. To be able to sit with one's own thoughts for so long and just… wait. It didn’t make sense to her. Instead of waiting around she headed over to a craftsman to see if he knew Ido.

“Hail Hunter!” it was Ido “I’m the local leatherworker. Ido’s the name. Show me your kills, and I’ll make ‘em into trophies you’ll be proud to show at the moot.” Föbe handed them over as Ido continued on while he worked. “Drinking, singing and boasting! I love a good old-fashioned moot. Others save their parties for the holidays, but I say every day alive’s worth celebrating!” He glanced across to Föbe and she nodded uncertain. She was about to open her mouth and respond when suddenly Ido called out. “Hey, Knut,” startled Föbe’s eyes shot across to Knut who she hadn’t realised was standing nearby, “look at this impressive trophy! Worthy of the Great Hunt, I’d say!” She could feel the blood rushing into her cheeks, and not for the first time, she wished she had darker skin to hide her blush.

Knut Whitebear was as imposing as his name suggested. While he didn’t quite tower over Föbe, his presence was that of a ruler. His gaze was steady as he assessed both Föbe and her trophy. “Indeed.” He finally shared his thoughts and Föbe felt a breath rush out behind clenched teeth. “You are skilled enough to defeat your prey and wise enough to revere their spirits. You are worthy to join in this year’s Great wwHunt!” He approved, she was in! Blood thundered around her ears as she continued to listen to Knut’s boast. “By my own hand I have brought the mighty wurm, Issormir. He waits above, in the plateau, for one such as you to challenge him. The great Eir Stegalkin watches over him now, waiting for the hunt to commence. When it is time, you and the others will got to the high ground over the valley. There you will face Issormir and claim victory - if you can!” Föbe felt a great swell of pride at Whitebear’s words. She would defeat Issormir in front of the great Eir Stegalkin. In doing so she would complete the hunt and begin her life as an adventurer. It was as if she could taste fate at the edges of her senses, subtle but as substantial as any good ale she had ever drank.

“I can and I will. This is where my legend begins!” She raced off to head to the entrance to the plateau, no longer interested in drinking or listening to songs so blue they would make Jormag himself blush. She was so quick she did not even hear Ido chuckle and wish her good luck. She also didn’t see a large, tattooed norn until she had bumped right into him.

“Well, I didn’t know the Great Hunt was open to worthless losers. What are you doing here, Föbe? Besides embarrassing yourself.” Mikkel Toivosson had always been a cruel child and he had turned into a beast of a man. In Föbe’s opinion someone should have put him down long before he developed such a sharp tongue and teeth. He also had foul breath, a fact of which she subtly reminded him as she wrinkled her nose to reply.

“Drunk again, Mikkel? I guess seeing your face in the mirror would drive anyone to drink.” It was worth potentially getting hit in the face, just to see Mikkel furious brows knit together and a vein pop out on his forehead. All the years of cruel words and actions had hardened her heart to Mikkel’s anger.

He had taunted her when her mother had not returned from the hunt. He had pushed her into snow drifts when she was too small to stand up to his bullying. He had called her names because she liked the colour pink. Pink is for cowards, that must make you a coward! He had mocked her when she had discovered her necrotic powers. Death is for the weak! You will always be a loser freak. But she was no child, and bullies like Mikkel were not worth a dolyak’s piss.

“What did you say? I’d break you in half, but then the judges would probably disqualify me. But I won’t forget this.” He went to turn away, but some self-preservation instinct in Föbe’s brain had apparently been left back at Ido’s leather-working station.

“You’d forget your own name if your mom didn’t stitch it into your undergarments.” With that Föbe turned on her heel and left, but not before she caught a muttered insult from Mikkel.

“At least I have a mom.” It was the same insult that had followed her through the woods as a child whenever she had humiliated him in some activity. It had the same effect then as it did now. Hot pins pricked the back of her eyelids and a metallic taste flooded her mouth. In her ears she could hear her blood pumping so fiercely it sounded like how she imagined a dragon would sound. Close, hot and so very angry. She went to turn back to him and show him the sharp site of her hatchet, but before she could she was intercepted by a dark haired norn in full heavy armour.

“Hail hunter! I hope you’re ready for the next challenge.” The way he place the emphasis on next made it clear he would not tolerate a brawl outside of the boundaries of the normal festivities. When fights got personal between the norn they had a way of getting irreversibly messy. He had manoeuvred himself in between Föbe and Mikkel so that she could no longer see him.

“If the challenge comes in a keg, I’m always ready.” Getting extremely drunk suddenly seemed like an excellent idea. If she had a drink for every-time Mikkel had made her thirsty, well it wouldn’t matter, she would be too drunk to remember what numbers were.

“Ha! Know this - Bear’s Brown Ale has bested as many norn as Bear herself!” He said warmly and with a sardonic lilt that showed he knew from personal experience.

“Well said! Who are you, friend?” There was something to his eyes and mouth that was familiar.

“I am Skarti, oldest son of Knut Whitebear.” That was it, the family resemblance was clear when you knew what to look for. “I lead the Wolfborn, protectors of the Great Lodge, and I can outdrink any norn, charr, spirit, or god!” The challenge rang clear in his voice.

“A mighty boast!” Föbe smiled, brushing one peachy lock behind a pale ear, she liked Skarti’s spirit. “I look forward to seeing you prove it at the moot. See you then!” Knut Whitebear clapped her on the back. His voice held a note of promise which bolstered Föbe. It also made her thighs tingle with imagined heat.

The Great Hunt always took place in the plateau arena. The winding steps up to the arena a test of stamina in and of themselves. In previous years, Föbe had stood at the bottom of the steps and listened to the cries of norn and creature in the clouds above. She listened to the stories of the returning hunters with something like a gnawing feeling in her stomach. The urge to race up the steps would continue for days after, like an itch in the middle of her back that she couldn’t reach.

As she drew closer she could see Eir Stegalkin waiting to escort this years hopefuls on the Great Hunt. Eir was every bit as commanding as Föbe had expected. Her aura spread a calm around her, which Föbe had no doubt could turn to a confident violence in a twitch of a dolyak’s tail if necessary. Her confident voice rang clear as a death toll in the air. As she shouted a greeting Föbe felt her skin tingle.

“Hail to the finest hunters of the season!” Föbe opened her mouth to reply, but found she couldn’t make a noise. Jormag could have landed in front of her and demanded she sing or die, and she wouldn’t have been able to whistle a note. In one sentence Eir had reduced Föbe to being an embarrassed girl watching the mighty hunters around her homestead swap tales of heroic deed, and she had no idea how to get their attention. Before she could answer Eir’s greeting, the legendary ranger was moving up the stairs to the plateau. “Follow me if you dare - and ready yourselves for battle.” The Great Hunt had begun.

Föbe took the steps two at a time. She moved so quickly she almost missed the traditional blessings from the spirit sharmans.

“May Snow Leopard grant you swiftness”

“May Raven bless you with the vision to see and the wisdom to understand.”

“Walk with the pack. In the eyes of the Wolf, we are all brothers and sisters.”

“Battle with the strength of the bear.”

Föbe crested the top of the plateau and before lay an icy bowl with writhing ice wurm hatchlings. Eir turned her cool gaze in Föbe causing her to pause before the gruesome sight.

“Welcome Föbe. I’ve heard about you - some good things, some not so good,” Föbe hoped she had not been listening to Mikkel’s lies, “and some things I just don’t believe. I look forward to seeing you prove yourself!”

“It’s all true, every word!” Föbe found her voice and spoke with a confidence she didn’t trust to stand up to scrutiny. “Stand with me now, and you’ll see for yourself!”

Those were the last words Föbe spoke before running to where the wurm’s were at their thickest, swinging her duel axes. With every death screech she felt necrotic energy pool around her. Each death was like the snapping of a too tight string. There was a built up pressure and then a ripple as their spirits were released to the mists.

With each death she could sense the imminent rage of Issormir below the ice. He would be called forth by death, and death would answer his arrival. There was a satisfying simplicity in the hunt. Föbe grinned as her axe slice another worm to the spinal column, it’s flesh falling to the icy ground below and freezing almost instantly. There was a deep rumble from the earth beneath Föbe’s feet heralding the arrival of Issormir.

Issormir shot up from the ice, and towered above the hunters below. It’s turquoise, segmented body looked almost like it was carved out of the heart of a glacier. Mandibles spread wide it lunged, enraged and seeking revenge for the death of the hatchlings.

Above the chaotic cries of battle and the howling of the wind Eir’s voice rang out. “Onward! To glory!” Garm, Eir’s faithful wolf companion, launched itself at Issormir, teeth bared and hackles raise. “There’s our prey! Go on, hunter, show us what you can do!” Föbe forced her tired muscles to move and she charged the worm, ducking low as it swung to try and knock her back.

Föbe hacked and hacked at the body of the mighty wurm. Eir’s battle shouts the only break in the rhythm of battle. “Keep at him! Don’t let Garm have all the fun!” As she swung low, Garm jumped over shoulder, sharp claws a breath away from her face. Some of her attacks slid over it’s tough segmented body, but some hit true and she grunted as she had to wrench them back out of the hard muscle.

“He’s reeling. Let’s finish him off!” Föbe wasn’t sure who dealt the true killing blow, all she knew was that she rolled to avoid a vicious bite from Issormir and and then she was jumping in the air and bringing both axes down with all of her remaining energy.

Issormir crumpled like a dropped ribbon in the snow. Breathing hard Föbe stared at the enormous carcass stunned as blood rushed around her ears. Her own heartbeat the only thing she could hear until Eir’s voice once again raised above the now silent battlefield.

“All hail the Slayer of Issormir!” Föbe laughed, falling back into the snow to stare up at the sky briefly. Eir stood above her, looking down on her like an benevolent spirit. “Now,” she said reaching down to help Föbe up, “return to the Snowlord’s Gate as no mere hunter, but a champion!” Eir brushed snow from her hair, her hand gently grazing Föbe’s face. Then she was guiding Föbe back down the steps to the sounds of a moot in full swing below.

She made her way over to where the ale was flowing freely from the enormous moot kegs. The sounds of laughter and shouting filled the air, and somewhere someone was banging a table like it was a drum as someone was composing a song of the death of Issormir. Föbe was greeted warmly by Habel Icebreaker.

“What a hunt!” Föbe had always liked Habel’s voice, it was perfect for storytelling. “I heard about your victory. Very impressive.” He beamed at her from behind his horned helm.

“Thank you.” Föbe grinned at him. “It was a hard-fought battle, and I’m proud of my part in it.” She didn’t quite feel like making a mighty boast now. She was tired, and acutely aware she hadn't eaten anything but some hastily choked down dolyak jerky.

“An excellent beginning to your legend, friend. You know, a lot of folks around here have problems that need solving. A slayer like you could be a big help.” Föbe wasn't feeling particularly helpful right now. She just wanted to get to the moot and begin drinking.

“Putting your skills to work sharpens them, and helping others wouldn't hurt your reputation, either! Think of the glory!” Havel did make a persuasive argument.

“I will seek out these problems and solve them.” Föbe assured him, and began moving off towards the noise of the moot. Then fearing she was maybe being a bit rude in her haste, she turned back towards Habel. “Then we will see how my legend grows!” She waved at him and kept walking.

By the time Föbe joined them the moot was in full swing. Norn in various stages of drunkenness were thumping tables. It wasn’t long before Föbe had a horn of ale in one hand and a stick of unspecified meat in the other. The meat was a little crispy around the edges, but the ale was frothy and left a warm feeling in her chest. As the night progressed there wa singing and dancing and Föbe could feel the heady rush of merriment stain her cheeks. By the time the moon was at the highest point in the sky she felt invincible and reckless.

At some point in the evening Skarti had sat down to share a keg with her. He was good conversation and had many stories to tell about his time in Hoelbrak. It seemed the wolfborn were good friends and they had been given the job of peacekeeping largely to keep them out of trouble, or at least the worst of it. With each story he told, it seemed as if a different norn would come join them. Some would come to congratulate Föbe on the hunt, but most it seemed we're trying to get Skarti’s attention. He laughed with them, joked with each one, but declined every offer kindly.

Halfway through a raucous story about how he and two of the wolf born were banned from a fancy house in the human lands when Föbe felt a presence behind her. Thinking it another of Skarti’s hopefuls she didn’t turn around and she may have even gone as far as to roll her eyes. Instead she just leaned in a little closer to Skarti, who was so wrapped up with the telling of the story he didn’t notice until a low loud cough sounded from behind Föbe.

“So there I was, having to make a decision to either grab my drink or cover my now exposed- father! You and Eir decided to join us.”

Föbe twisted in her seat looking for the red headed ranger, hoping to speak with her following the hunt, but she was standing back by the road, looking expectantly at Whitbear. She then made to stand so as to greet the norn chieftain on equal footing, but he merely waved her back into her seat.

“I’m afraid not for long Skarti, although it warms my heart to listen to tales of your misfortunes,” he had the same sly smile his son had, “I must back to Hoelbrak tonight for there are urgent matters to attend to. I merely came to offer my congratulations for today's hunt.” He turned to Föbe and clapped her on the shoulder. “It was a good hunt and I look forward to seeing how your legend unfolds Slayer of Issormir.” His tone was gruff, but Föbe was touched by his sentiment, even as she felt the press of her destiny at the edges of them. “ Here.” He pressed a portal stone into her hand. Her vision was slightly blurred from the drink, but she could just make out the shape of a pink heart and a simple building etched into it. “Know there will always be a home for you at the Great Lodge in Hoelbrak.” With a nod to his son, Knut Whitebear turned back to the road where Eir was already heading towards Hoelbrak and they disappeared into the night together.

“I’m not sure I understand what has just happened?” Föbe turned back to a laughing Skarti. She was disappointed she had not managed to speak to Eir, and her mind was slightly fogged by the enormity of what she had just been given.

“It seems my father has given you rooms at the Great Lodge. A just reward for a fine performance.” He plucked the stone out of her loose grip and held it up to the torch light. It sparkled with some hidden magic, but it was dim. When he handed it back to her it seemed to shimmer brighter before returning to its static appearance.

“I didn’t hunt for a reward, I wanted to begin a legend worthy of great skaalds and I…” she trailed off, not sure how to explain her desire to impress Eir Stegalkin.

“Trust me hero,” Skarti said kindly, “that will be an easier feat to accomplish if you are based Hoelbrak.” His words made sense so she tucked the stone into a belt pouch. Skarti took a deep gulp of his ale, white froth clung for a moment to his lips before he licked it away. “There is always some sort of trouble that finds its ways into those halls.” He offered her a refill, which she accepted with a smile, trying to ignore the way her hand tingled as it lingered just a little longer than necessarily. She hid her blush with a deep slug of her own ale, telling herself the heat in her face was from the sudden rush of alcohol. “Besides,” he threw her a sideways grin, “it will give us a chance to know each other better.”

Föbe would admit she was a little naive to certain acts. But she had seen other norn flirting before, sneaking off to quiet spaces where they could be alone, and she knew enough to realise what Skarti offered. She pushed her peach toned her behind one shoulder, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands. Their eyes locked, her breath caught and she weighed her options before responding with what she hoped was more confidence then she felt.

“We need not wait for Hoelbrak to know each other better.” She didn't mean to pitch her voice as softly as she did, but it had the pleasant effect of meaning Skarti had to lean in to catch her words. This meant that with his soft chuckle she could feel his warm breath puff against her flushed cheek.

“In that case come,” he stepped back holding out his hand to her. “I think I saw another keg behind the wood stack over there.” For a second she stared in confusion at her mostly full tankard before her heart raced and she downed the rest of what she had in three big gulps. Her throat burned as a result and her eyes teared up, but she was laughing as she took his proffered hand and was led away from the raucous noise of the moot. Föbe resisted the urge to look back to see if any other norn had noticed their quiet exchange and subsequent exit.

He took her to a secluded spot, in between a wood pile and a building. Away from private eyes he released her hand, and caught her by the elbow. With surprising gentleness he drew her in close. Föbe tilted her chin instinctively and it was like the spark of power raced from her lips as they kissed for the first time. She had been kissed clumsily before, but this time a shiver ran from her lips to her thighs. She pressed in close and his other arm slipped around her lower back.

The kiss grew bold and soon she was pressed up against a wall. She broke the kiss to draw breath and gasp as his fingers slipped under her skirt and past the ties of her light armour leggings, to run teasingly along the lips of her cunt. He used the other hand to grab her leg and draw it up into his hip, taking most of her weight. His armour dug into the soft skin of her breast, adding a sharp counterpoint of pain to the pleasure as he rubbed firmly against her clitoris. His fingers were soon slippery enough that he found entry of one finger easily. The sensation, while not completely new was altered as this time it was not her own fingers.  There was a slight burn but Skarti was gentle enough that it didn't distract from the pleasure.  He smothered her moan with another open mouthed kiss. Drawing back, he thrust in with a second finger, chuckling low as she gasped for air.

“I heard they have started calling you wurm slayer.” She let out a slight whine as a third finger found its way inside her, thrusting in fast, only to be withdrawn ever so slowly. “Am I to see your formidable skills tonight hero? I know another great wurm you could slay.” She looked at him incredulously for a moment before she shifted her weight. The next thing he knew she had used the weight of his own armour to reverse their positions. His fingers slipped from inside her as his hand shot out to steady himself.

“All the blood must have fled your brain for you to make such poor jests.” His startled laugh was cut off with a satisfied groan as she dropped to her knees before him and fumbling with his armour straps. She swore softly as her finger slipped over the catch, and he finally reached down to help her. Together they made fast work of the buckles and ties and his cock sprang free. Already hard and damp at the tip. Great wurm indeed.

“Let’s see if we can’t release some of the pressure and return you to sanity.” He made a guttural noise as she took the tip into her mouth. He rubbed her shoulders appreciatively as she swirled her tongue of him.

“I find sanity overrated. Besides this method,” he paused to shift his weight slightly, “will certainly drive me further into madness.” The saltiness was strange at first, but not unpleasant, and underneath it was the simple taste of him. Feeling braver as he murmured encouragements to her, she began to bob her head. Her hands resting on his hips for balance as she took him deeper and deeper with each attempt.

Soon she established a rhythm, breathing deep through her nose, before plunging down. One hand worked its way to the base to stroke what she could not swallow, her spit mixed with Skarti’s precise to ease the way. Losing herself to the rhythm, she moaned, the vibrations travelling as a hum through her tongue, making him thrust slightly in surprise. Skarti stilled under her as she paused, eyes flicking to his. Something passed between him and soon his hand was tangled in her hair as took over the rhythm, thrusting into her mouth and eventually her throat. At first she gagged, her throat muscles contracting. This made Skarti moan again so on the next thrust she tried to do it on purpose. She found if she swallowed she could take more of him.

It was easy to let her hands drop to her breast and crotch. One finger rubbing along her slit as she allowed Skarti to once more take the lead. As the rhythm picked up a little, he began to whisper filthy things that made her moan all the more around his thick cock.

“Oh you are such a beautiful slut. You like that don't you?” He thrust again, panting hot white mist into the cold night air. “So strong and, oh fuck, so willing.” Föbe would have been embarrassed normally by the sloppy sounds the suction of her mouth was making. However the ale still buzzing through her system freed her of her normal restrictions and she found they were the perfect accompaniment to his obscene patter. “I could come down your throat here in the snow.” Her eyelids fluttered as electricity sparked from where her finger slipped over her clit. “I could come across your face and mark you as mine.” He thrust again his hand flexing against the back of her head. “I’m not going to though. A willing slut like you wants to be filled don’t you?” She gagged again, breathing deep through her nose and out as he withdrew and thrust once more. “I bet you want me to fuck you so hard you forget your name.” She moaned around his cock, but then he was pulling back. “Tell me what you want.”

She shook her head, suddenly embarrassed and unable to find the words. His cock popped out of her mouth and she gasped as saliva dribbled down her chin. She panted staring at her knees her ears aflame with her unspoken shame. Her heart was pounding as her mind raced, unsure what she wanted, until she felt a gentle pressure from his hand where it still rested on the back of her head. He pressed softly, but steadily, encouraging her to tilt her head back until their eyes met again. She was surprised to see a warm kind smile on his face.

“Tell me what you want.” He repeated gently. His hand slipped round her head, thumb brushing over her inflamed cheeks to gently run along her swollen lips. Her lips parted and the world seemed to freeze and hang upon her answer.

“Fuck me.” She whispered. Her answer was so soft, it was almost inaudible over the sounds of the moot in background. His smile widened into something proud and hungry and he released her, going to step passed her as if to go back to the moot.

 _Oh spirits_ , she thought, _I’ve said the wrong thing_. But then warm hands were once again tilting her head back. She saw a brief flash of stars before he stopped and swooped in to give her a short, desperate kiss.

“Beautiful.” Then he was kneeling behind her, lifting and spreading her legs so she sat astride his solid thighs. She leaned into his chest. His hand once again found her opening, working three fingers inside her, this time scissoring her wider. Her hand clutched his arm as another hand found its way to her blouse, lightly pinching her nipple.

“So sweet.” The fingers left her and she felt him reach behind her as he positioned himself. She pushed up off her knees to help him. “So willing.” Both of his hands now found her hips and hit bit her neck lightly as he used encouraged her to penetrate herself. She gasped and then her breathing quickened as he set a relentless pace. Pushing off his own knees in order to fuck her deeper and deeper. One particularly brutal thrust had her seeing stars and then she was being guided into her hand and knees and his hips snapped forwards again and again. Her pale hands didn’t feel the cold of the snow beneath them because a fire raged within. The last lingering touch of death she had felt during battle was chased away.

She could feel the pressure build with every thrust, as his long, thick cock pressed against something inside of her. Stretching her wide. Her pale thighs burned as they held her up through sheer force of will. Red flashed at the edges of her vision and something dark coiled low in her belly. She felt so alive, and her focus narrowed to just the push and pull inside of her as Skarti chased something just out of reach.

Suddenly he lost the punishing rhythm he had set, hips snapping into her so hard she thought she would have bruises from his armour. The thrust tipped her over the edge and he grunted his release and she felt her own add to the wetness between her legs. Where his release was guttural, hers was gasped and nearly silent.

They stayed there panting for endless seconds. His arm slipped around her waist and he eased them onto their sides in the snow as they planted for breath, waiting for their heartbeats to return to normal. Before they could get their wits about them, they heard footsteps approaching.

“I’m telling you,” the words were loud and slurred, “I heard a wild boar back here, must be looking for an easy dinner.”

“Oh shit.” Föbe hissed out. Bloody Mikel, he had all the timing of a blind Grawl. Panic hit her already fogged brain. Luckily Skarti was not quite so addled. Later it would have Föbe laughing and questioning just how often he found himself with his trousers down in public. He tightened his grip on her waist and his hand shot to the portal stone she had put earlier in one of her belt pouches.

“Now would be the time to use father’s gift I think.” And it was with a laugh and the fizz of magic that they were both transported into Föbe’s new home still connected at the hip, still trying to catch their breath.

_Each year, a Great Hunt is called in Hoelbrak. Only the best among us are invited to participate. I shall use my might to collect trophies to prove my work, then drink and boast of my victories. I accept this challenge. I relish it. Come, danger. Come, adventure!_

 

 


End file.
